


An Open Wound

by lunalius



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: (more like lovers to enemies to lovers), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, I wouldn't say the violence is graphic but it is close enough, M/M, Rival Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28620021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalius/pseuds/lunalius
Summary: Kun's life is thrown off balance when he stumbles upon a dying Youngho.
Relationships: Suh Youngho | Johnny/Qian Kun
Comments: 22
Kudos: 100
Collections: #KunFanWeek2021





	An Open Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Hello welcome to what is essentially more a worldbuilding exercise than it is an actual story with a plot. I only started writing this so I could figure out the energy of a fanart I wanted to draw but I got so carried away that I didn't have time to actually do the scene in the fanart. I hope it makes sense
> 
> Based on [this tweet](https://twitter.com/singledadjohnny/status/1331251255377879046?s=20).  
> The [fanart](https://twitter.com/singledadjohnny/status/1335799509016662017).

Vampyres are solitary creatures. They travel alone, hunt alone, live alone. Every once in a while, they will form companionships and travel in pairs, but when one can live as long as eternity, love means very little.

That’s what Kun told himself when he left Youngho. When time had worn away any reasons they had to continue to be together — the fire of each other’s touch, the joy felt in each other’s presence, the comfort offered through long and difficult summers. That’s what Kun had told Youngho when Youngho had dropped the stick of incense he was holding onto the stone floor and asked him, “Why?”

It wasn’t normal, back then, to treat your syre like that. Especially when Youngho had found Kun the way he did, with stab wounds dotting Kun’s body and bleeding out all over the dry grass he lay on. Even less normal for Kun to go out on his own instead of joining another clan.

Ironic, then, that this is how Kun found Johnny now — this time with only one wound, in a muddy ditch in the middle of Kun’s favourite hunting forest. Kun can hear his heart beating every five counts, can hear his shallow breaths and the way his toes curl in his leather boots.

“Kun,” Youngho says. Not a question, because he already knows.

“How did you get yourself into this?” Kun asks.

“Might’ve—” Youngho winces, and Kun pushes him back down before he can move to sit up. “Might’ve gotten in an argument with Yves. Unintentionally.”

Kun’s eyes stray down to the wound just below Youngho’s chest. The peach wood stake is still buried into his ribs, and now that he’s closer, Kun can smell a faint hint of vinegar. “Is that why you’re in Qian territory?”

“I needed to feed.” Youngho pauses to take a much deeper breath, slowly — his lung was probably punctured. “Her clan knows my usual haunts.”

“Judging by the fact that they found you here, I assume they know your history, too.”

Youngho grunts. “Who doesn’t?”

Kun kneels by his side and reaches over to touch the blunt end of the stake with the tip of his finger. Youngho closes his eyes.

“Can I help you?” Kun asks him.

Youngho peeks an eye open. “How?” Then both. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that.”

“You’ll die if I don’t. And you have a clan to lead.”

“Kun…”

Kun understands the hesitation. Sharing blood is an intimate, passionate act, and that was the context of the last time they did so, a very, very long time ago. But sharing blood is also a healing act, and while Kun may have been the first known vampyre to leave his syre, he wasn’t going to be the first to let his syre die. “I’m offering you. You can accept if you want to live.”

Youngho’s Adam’s apple bobs, and Kun watches the movement travel down his body, the wince as it reaches his chest. “Alright.”

Kun raises his hand to his mouth and pricks the ball of his thumb with one of his fangs. He waits till he tastes metal before he pulls away and brings his palm to Youngho’s lips. His fingers hover over Youngho’s closed eyes, his brow, his cheekbones, his nose, as he feels rough tongue brush against his skin, feels that familiar haze of his blood being sucked from his body. If he couldn’t tell Youngho’s strength was returning by the way his breathing became steadier, then hewould by Youngho lifting his hands to grasp Kun’s own, one wrapped loosely around his wrist, the other pinching lightly at his thumb.

After one final effort, Youngho closes his mouth and pulls Kun’s palm up to press it to his nose. Kun lets him as he struggles to catch his own breath, but soon the rosy glow wears off and his vision returns to its usual sharpness, and the moment is over. “Youngho.”

“Sorry.” Youngho’s eyes meet his before he lets go. Kun can hear his pulse quicken from once every five counts to once ever three.

Kun retracts his hand and suppresses the urge to press it to his chest. “Where’s your closest healer?”

“Bangkok.”

“You’ve got to be joking. After you got yourself in trouble with the Jeon?”

“Dongyeong left for Siberia before my… mistake. He’s usually nearby.”

Kun hovers his good hand over the stake once again, before looking to the skies. “Taeyong is visiting today. Let me take you to my home. It’s close.”

Youngho’s pulse quickened once again, just for a few beats. “I know,” he says. And after a long pause, he adds, “Okay.”

—

“He will be fine,” Taeyong tells Kun outside the room Youngho was given to rest. “The bones are fractured but did not go through his organs, so he was easy to stitch up. He will need at least eight moons — it should be full on the seventh — and a steady stream of youth’s blood.”

Kun purses his lips, and tries not to look at Youngho’s shadow through the walls. “How inconvenient. We need the youth’s blood for the young one.”

“Leave it to the Seo to acquire it. It’s none of our business whether he heals or not. Have you sent word?”

“I have. Yuta will be arriving with the moon rise.” Kun toys with the ring on his left little finger. “Youngho has a fledgling of his own, you know.”

“Kun,” Taeyong sighs.

“I presume he would have to feed him, too.”

“He has his clan for that.”

“I wonder if Yuta will bring the young one with him.”

“That would be dangerous and irresponsible of him. Two fledglings in one house is a death wish. We had enough trouble with Chenle and Jisung.”

“Yangyang said he was raised with two other fledglings himself.”

“Just because the Seo are bad at population management doesn’t mean we have to be.” Taeyong fixes Kun with his signature glare, one Kun has long since stopped being afraid of, but not one he’d be mistaken to take lightly. “Stop being so concerned. It will lead you down a dangerous path.”

“I am not concerned about him. I am allowed to empathise with someone who is in a similar situation.”

“Just remember who you’re empathising with.” Taeyong begins to walk in the direction of the main hall; Kun follows after. “And remember, as well, that you were under no obligation to heal him and you did so out of sheer generosity, and you are not obliged to provide for him any further than the bare minimum. He owes you a debt, now.”

Kun waits till they have strode well away from the room, far enough down into the courtyard that Youngho’s vampyre ears wouldn’t be able to pick their speech apart. “I never repaid him for syring me.”

Taeyong scoffs. “From what you’ve told me of your relationship, I think you’ve repaid him enough.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“You are applying your personal experiences to mine. We are not the same.”

Kun regrets it as soon as he says it. It was true — of course it was true — but it is hurtful nonetheless. Wounds can always reopen after they heal.

“Well,” Taeyong whispers.

“Taeyong, I’m sorry—”

“It’s in the past. I’m here till the Seo healer arrives, which is well past how long I intended to stay.” Taeyong tugs at the lace on his sleeve. “I have to send word to Taeil.”

Kun bites his tongue at the sudden change of subject. “Give him my regards. Tell him he’s welcome to come over if he misses you.”

Taeyong nods curtly. Kun can tell he wants to be left alone, so he stops, lets the other keep going.

Taeyong has worked all night, and Kun has stayed by his side — by Youngho’s side — the entire time. It’s dawn by the time Taeyong has left him for his quarters, and Kun is retreating to his own. He thinks it might finally he over, and he might finally be left to his own thoughts, until he finds Yangyang standing in front of his door.

He doesn’t look happy.

“Someone from the Seo is here.”

Kun mentally pinches his nose bridge. “Yes. Youngho.”

“ _Youngho_ is here? Are you crazy?” Yangyang leans against Kun’s door for support. “You brought the _prymus_ of another clan into our house?”

Despite his anger, Yangyang steps away when Kun moves forward. He slides his door open and shifts to the side to let the younger vampyre in. “You know your former people best, Yangyang. How do you think they would react to the fact that their prymus was killed on Qian territory?”

“We didn’t do it, though. Youngho knows that.”

“And how could Youngho tell them if he was dead? They used vinegar, our signature.” Kun pries the tassels Yangyang is toying with — the one Yangyang hastily sewed onto his coat jacket a century ago — out of the younger vampyre’s fingers. “There’s no way the Seo would know that we have complaint with the Jeon as well. Youngho certainly doesn’t.”

Yangyang twiddles his thumbs, taps his feet far too fast on the wooden floor. “I can’t see him again. He was really angry when I told him I was switching to your clan.”

“All you did was hurt his pride. No one will hurt you while you’re a Qian and while you’re under my protection.” Kun’s words didn’t seem to soothe Yangyang, however, so Kun added, “But another Seo will be arriving tomorrow, so leave if you feel you must. I believe Renjun and Yukhei are in Jilin. Pack now so you can leave at moonrise.”

“Yes.” Yangyang bows his head, takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Kun.”

“Be sure to wish Shotaro farewell before you go. He’s taken a liking to you.”

Yangyang winces. “I can tell.”

—

Yuta arrives closer to moonset than moonrise. Yangyang is long gone, and with Taeyong busy and Shotaro incapacitated, only Kun and Chenle are at the gates to greet them.

“Youngho’s penthouse has an elevator straight to the door,” is the first thing Yuta says to them.

Kun, predictably, doesn’t appreciate being lectured by a member of another clan. “I don’t share his penchant for ostentatious new technologies.” He turns and takes on step inside the gates so he is within the threshold. “You may come in.”

He leaves the Seo alone with his prymus. Vampyres are gossips by nature, there is no honour code or etiquette to stop him from being there, but it feels wrong — having to be in the same room while Youngho pretends his injuries are better than they are to someone Kun has never had the opportunity to see Youngho bond with. Will he treat him with the warmth and humour that Youngho used to show him, that he has come to be known for over the millenia? Will it stop there, or will he kiss him the way he used to kiss Kun?

No — Kun chooses, instead, to sit in the main hall in silence. Across the table, Taeyong and Chenle play and bicker as they have done all the while Taeyong has been home; Taeyong chastising Chenle for not properly ironing his collar, and Chenle completely ignoring it all to ask for more tales of Taeyong and Taeil’s travels. There is no food on the table, so Kun toys with one of the many rings on his fingers.

“It isn’t good for you to stay here,” Taeyong complains. “Kun does everything for you and now you don’t know how to take care of yourself.”

“That is precisely why I’m going to stay,” Chenle replies smugly.

“At some point, you’re going to have to fend for yourself. Perhaps it would be a good idea to send you to live with Minhyung. What do you think, Kun? Kun?”

Kun pulls out of his daze slowly. “Oh? Hm. Minhuyng hasn’t learnt anything living alone. I’m not sure it would work for Lele.”

“Minhyung is an anomaly.”

“I don’t want to have to take care of Minhyung. Kun already forces me to go hunting for the fledgling.”

“Complain more and I’ll make you feed him. Speaking of which…” Kun rises from his seat and strides over to the folding doors that open out to the courtyard. He notes the closeness of the moon to the horizon, the position of Polaris in the sky, now slightly tinged with violet. “It’s time to feed Shotaro his dinner.”

Kun has found over the years that chicken’s blood makes for the best final meal of the day for a freshly-turned fledgling. It is the ultimate light feed — the young one can satiate their thirst just enough to calm their nerves, but it wasn’t potent enough to keep them awake and energised through the day. The fowl were also easy enough for Kun to keep on his premises without drawing the attention of the village at the foot of the mountain.

Kun deftly undoes the bronze lock of the western wing with one hand — his other occupied with a live bird — and pulls away the chains barring the wooden door closed. He steps into complete darkness and quickly pulls the doors shut once again. With a deep breath, he steps over the line of glutinous rice that marks the start of the chambers from the stone entryway, ignoring the sting he feels as he passes. He can already hear the clanging of chains and the hissing as he makes his way to the creature at the back corner, sickly grey, with beady black eyes and fangs so large they disfigure his face. He has been this way for the past two moon cycles, and he will stay this way for many moon cycles to come.

“Hello, Shotaro. How are we feeling tonight?”

His answer is more hisses and a growl. Kun sees the bones of his morning meal licked clean, as well as papers strewn around the room, drawn on with suspicious red ink and mostly ripped to shreds. He also notes an opened letter on a stool in the corner, with the familiar Qian seal sitting on it, entirely intact. It seems the young one has had a productive day.

Kun holds the chicken out at arms’ length. “Eat.”

Shotaro eats the feathers along with the meat and the blood, which is sure to make him sick in the morning. Kun remembers dealing with Taeyong right after he had been syred; he was so young then, but his own thirst felt like a distant memory, and watching Taeyong devour body after body had made him feel sick. He wonders if Youngho had felt the same way with him once.

Today, Kun has seen enough fledglings, syred enough himself, that the transition from meat-eating beast to civilised blood drinker has become smooth. Like now, Kun knows to wait ten beats after Shotaro has finished his meal. He looks calm enough, so Kun pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wipes the blood off of Shotaro’s face, careful to keep himself out of claws’ reach.

“Are you feeling better now?” Kun asked. Shotaro, as always, doesn’t respond. He isn’t expected to for another four or so cycles. “Shall I have a look at what you wrote, today?”

Kun doesn’t bother trying to fit the pieces of paper back together — that’s something he’ll do later, in his own quarters, away from the potential of destruction. Kun has never seen a fledging write and draw as much as this one. Mostly, it’s memories from the time before he’s turned. Kun sees modern devices, clothes, cars, things that feel so foreign to Kun because of where he lives. He isn’t like most other vampyres, who move from country to country every decade or so; Kun has a home, away from everything, away from time, where he stays, and where he intends to stay until the humans become too suspicious. Shotaro’s memories of smart devices and sports teams, thus, are jarring.

He hears feathers scratching against parchment. Kun turns to see Shotaro attempting to write something with blood drawn from his own hand. He tuts.

“Shotaro, sweetheart.” He gets up and strides over to the stool where Yangyang’s letter rests; on the floor next to it is a bottle of ink and brush. “I’ve brought you a set for a reason. You need to stop injuring yourself.”

Shotaro is already done by the time he brings them over. Kun inspects the piece of paper: all it says is a simple ‘sing for me’.

And so Kun does. He sings until Shotaro is asleep, and then he stuffs all the loose pieces of paper into his breast pocket along with the now-dirty handkerchief, and gathers the young human bones from breakfast into his arms.

He takes one last look at the fledgling before he leaves. He looks much more peaceful now, almost like he did before he was turned. In the morning, he will be feral once again, and the only thing that will satiate him is a young youth. Kun will have another scar to add to the many that Shotaro has given him along his arms, chest and back.

But he’s happy to put up with it; Shotaro will make a fine vampyre one day.

—

Yuta is on a hunt and Dongyeong is due to arrive closer to dawn, so Kun reads by Youngho’s bedside. It’s quiet enough, beyond the sounds of the crickets and their pulses, that Kun can tell when Youngho wakes by the change in the rhythm of his breathing. He keeps his eyes on the book before him, eyes scanning the yellowed pages without registering any of words, one ear trained for the prymus’ movements as he comes to consciousness.

Youngho’s voice is quiet. “What are you reading?”

Slowly, Kun turns a page to the left, securing it flat with his thumb. “Carmilla.”

“Ah. A favourite of mine.”

Kun peers at the other clan’s prymus over the top of his book. Youngho meets his eye, still lying on his back. “Is it.”

“Her downfall was falling in love.” Youngho smirks. “I can understand it.”

Kun rolls his eyes, glares a hole into his novel. “Fall in love often, do you?”

“Just once.”

Kun won’t indulge him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

When Kun hears cotton robe rustle longer than it should, he slams his book shut. He’s almost on his feet, but Youngho holds his hand out.

“No. I can do it without help. I did so yesterday.”

The vampyre’s arm shakes as he pushes his chest upright, other hand hovering over his wound. It takes longer than it should, but he makes it, lips pursed in an ‘o’ as he breaths as deeply as his injury will allow him.

Kun remembers the one time he had to help Youngho with this — one hand on his abdomen, the other on his back, their faces far too close because Kun needed to lean in to read his face and gauge the pain. Youngho didn’t meet his gaze then, too focused on making sure his injury wasn’t being aggravated, and Kun had pulled away before Youngho could look up.

When Youngho looks at him now, the moment is less charged. There are many lengths and many, many rays of moonlight between them.

Kun’s book is still closed on his lap. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not much.”

“Youngho.”

Youngho looks down at his lap. “Yes. It still hurts.”

There was a time when Youngho would have tried to convince him that he was fine. Would pretend whatever was concerning wasn’t a big deal, and he could handle it, would kiss him to make him forget — and as decades passed, Kun had come to realise that he was lying. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he fell out of love; the lack of trust, respect. The expectation that Kun confide everything in him when he couldn’t do the same.

Kun is lying if he says he isn’t impressed with Youngho’s present honesty, but he also wants to know why. It is because they are equals? Or is it because Youngho has changed?

Kun is on his feet once again. “I think it’s best if you stay on your back. I’ll bring you the pain-relieving salve.”

“I don’t need a salve. I don’t want to lie down.” Youngho’s chest expands and falls under thin fabric, eyes wincing slightly with each inhale. “Would you do me a favour?”

“At some point, one asks so many favours that they begin to owe the other.”

“It isn’t much. I would just like to see the moon. Outside.”

Kun looks out the window, through its wooden bars at the waxing moon in the sky. It’ll be another three moons till it’s full and Youngho can feel its full benefit.

But it does look beautiful.

“Wait here,” Kun instructs the Seo. He strides to the room’s west and throws the doors open, one at a time. Moonlight floods through the doorway, illuminating Youngho’s face — Kun doesn’t dwell too much on his expression or the twinkle in his eyes. He slowly, painstakingly, helps Youngho to his feet, one of Youngho’s arms around his shoulder, Kun’s own firmly around Youngho’s waist. Youngho is bigger than him. No amount of time will change that, and Kun struggles to keep the vampyre standing.

Kun’s free hand slides up to where Youngho is grasping his shoulder. “You have to help me.”

“I’m trying,” Youngho grunts.

“Step with me. One, two. One, two…”

Kun leads Youngho down the steps and out onto the courtyard. The night breeze is, strangely, cooler than Youngho’s skin — a comforting contrast. Step by step, they walk over to the centre, where they can finally get a clear view of the overhead moon. He feels Youngho breathe deeply next to him; Kun holds a hand over his wound, just in case he overexerts himself.

“I haven’t seen it since you brought me here,” Youngho exhales, voice soft even though it doesn’t need to be — Taeyong is in the west wing looking after Shotaro, and Chenle is away. No one is there to hear them.

“There’s a window in your chambers,” Kun notes.

“It is not the same as seeing it in the open, fresh air.”

In another universe — perhaps one where they don’t have so much bad blood — Kun would sympathise with him. But at present, he is a hassle. A burden. A chip on his shoulder.

Still, Kun waits with him. He doesn’t notice that their hands are still linked, that he’s staring openly at Youngho, who closes his eyes against the breeze. The tip of Youngho’s fang peeks through his lips; Kun wants to tuck it back in.

“Thank you,” Youngho says in that same quiet voice, meant only for Kun. “For letting me have this. Yuta or Taeyong would never have done so.”

Kun matches his volume when he replies with a simple, “You’re welcome.”

He almost adds an ‘any time’, but that would be dishonest. Dangerously so.

—

Dongyeong is a force to be reckoned with.

Kun’s usually quiet estate turns raucous when the two healers meet. Taeyong accuses Dongyeong of not arriving fast enough; Dongyeong accuses Taeyong of sabotaging his prymus’ health. Even an unfamiliar observer would know that neither of them mean it — they’re both frustrated, whether that be because of the long travel or the long period of time away from their companion.

When Taeyong has left, the storm settles into a downpour. 

“You’re going senile,” Dongyeong snaps; his words must hurt, considering how Youngho winces. “You’re proof vampyres shouldn’t be allowed to be immortal. No one should live as long as you.” The healer fishes a small bronze cone out of a terracotta jar of ice water and places it on Youngho’s bare chest, right under his pectorals, amongst a pattern of six. “Starting a fight with Yves. Honestly.”

“We have company,” Yuta hisses.

“It’s not like our dear leader has much of a reputation to maintain with the Qian.”

Kun bows his head slightly and takes a long step backwards. “I’ve overstayed, in any case. I assume you both have supper organised.”

He only has about an hour until sunrise. It’s barely enough to find a decent meal, but Kun is hungry and he needs to drink. (He barely got to feed the night he came across Youngho.) The provinces to the south are too close for comfort, but there are areas that are isolated and Kun knows how to get there undetected, so that is what he settles for.

It’s a small village of barely five houses, spread across a wide area halfway up the mountainside. The peppercorn crops that laden its face are close to blooming. In the coming summer, the villagers’ children and grandchildren will make the tedious climb up to visit them, help them pick the fruit and sell it for a meagre price. Now, though, the winter is cold and tough. The elderly residents live alone with very little support, and very little to comfort them.

Kun is doing them a favour.

One house is further away from the rest, missing the protective talismans that would normally keep Kun at bay. He stalks closer and takes a whiff — a sole occupant, towards the end of their life span. There is the lingering scent of visitors, but not often, not recently.

The rusted lock isn’t hard to break through; he steps inside easily, making sure the light of the moon doesn’t fall where it shouldn’t. In a house as small as this, sneaking into the bedroom is easy. The homeowner is an old man, surrounded by pictures of his family. Kun takes a minute to observe him from a dark corner of the room, formulating a strategy.

The man is covered in multiple blankets. The only exposed part of his body is his head, from his nose up, and his toes. It is inconvenient, but not impossible.

Kun slinks to the foot of the bed. The man’s toes curl away from the chill Kun emanates, but all Kun has to do is peel the blankets away till his whole foot is exposed.

Then Kun sinks his fangs into flesh at the ball of the foot, and drinks.

The act of drinking blood is a sedative. Something in their saliva that puts their victim right to sleep, ensuring the feed and subsequent death is painless. If Kun is careful — and he almost always is — he’ll make sure the scar is as small as possible, unable to be any cause for concern, so the only conclusion a modern coroner can come to is that the victim died of ill health. If Kun had stumbled upon the victim in the middle of nowhere, he’d take the flesh home to feed Shotaro, but today, he has to stage a natural death.

Things were so much easier when the humans were not so clever.

When Kun leaves, he tucks the man’s foot back under the blankets, and makes sure the door is shut. He takes the rusted lock with him; a missing lock is less conspicuous than a broken one.

—

When Kun sees Yuta drinking his first meal from a goblet in the main hall, Kun knows he wants to have a word. He sits on the bamboo stool on the other edge of the table, and waits for the Seo to finish.

Yuta places the goblet onto the table with a small _clack_. “If you hurt Youngho again,” he says, a cold sort of fire in his eyes, “We will not hesitate to kill you.”

Kun tilts his chin upward. “In case you haven’t noticed, he is here at the Qian estate to heal. My intentions are quite the opposite of what you imply.”

“That’s not the kind of hurt I’m talking about.”

“I have no ulterior motives, Yuta. Youngho and I are not on good terms, but he is still my syre. The least I can do is not leave him for dead. My reasons do not stretch beyond that.”

“Is that why you visit him every other hour?” Yuta counters. “Is that why you read to him yesternight?”

Kun purses his lips. Excuses that he was caring by nature fell flat on his tongue. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your past few moons here, Yuta. I hope your trip back home will be kind.”

“I’m not going home, actually. I’m off to Seoul, to help Jungwoo look after the fledgling.”

“Ah, Jungwoo,” Kun nods. “Your latest companion? How many have you had, now?”

Yuta scowls. “I was hoping, when I arrived here, that you would be more earnest. Youngho has always described you as honest, simple.”

“Time changes things.”

“Time sure does.” Yuta rises from his seat, and adjusts his black tie back into place. “I’m going to check on Youngho one last time, and then I’ll be off.”

“May your travels be safe.”

“May you go back to being alone as soon as possible.”

Kun watches Yuta stride into courtyard and towards Youngho’s resting place in east wing with bated breath. He’s close, _too_ close to hitting the nail on the head, and Kun’s every bone is on high alert until he’s disappeared from view.

Kun makes himself sparse when Yuta finally leaves.

—

The full moon arrives on Youngho’s second last night of rest.

Kun and Chenle, with Dongyeong’s help, arrange a large cot out in the courtyard, where the moon shines the brightest. Shallow bowls of still water are arranged around him in the shape of a pentagon to capture as much of the moon’s beams as possible. Traditionally, Youngho’s clan would arrive to surround him, protect him, but within the bounds of the Qian estate, nothing will catch him off guard.

In theory.

It always happens when one is almost there, when what one wants to achieve is within arm’s reach — something comes crashing in and throws the process into disarray. The something in question, today, is members of the Jeon clan arriving outside the gates, requesting access to the head Seo.

“Neither of our clans think kindly of him,” Heejin, their prymus, explains. “If you hand him over, any bad blood between our clans is over. On the spot.”

The three Jeon wait politely outside his estate’s threshold. Kun greets them alone; they aren’t aggravated yet, and seem to be following the usual etiquette. “If you’ve come with your two most powerful warriors, then you must have some serious grievance with him.”

“There has been tension over territory for some time,” Heejin admits. “Too many of them living close to our borders. We’ve notified Youngho about the aggressive behaviour for some time, but he’s taken no action.”

“The final straw was when he didn’t grant Yves permission to live in Seo territory,” Olivia adds. “A clear declaration of war.”

In-fighting between younger clans was common, but the Jeon amongst all had a reputation of being quick to anger, quick to insult. Kun still commends them on their high sense of self-respect, but it is harder to appreciate having been on the other side of their vitriol.

Clans like the Qian and the Seo, on the other hand, clans that are thousands of years old, have settled. Kun and Youngho, both together and apart, have witnessed most of the unspoken rules of their species be created, and perhaps had a hand in creating some themselves. They’ve established their land, and Kun, at least, has long lost the hunger for more territory. He has no doubt the territorial disputes Heejin is referencing were instigated by herself, since he cannot imagine that Youngho would care so much. Even when they were younger, he never did.

Kun turns to Yves, who has been silent. “Were you trying to move to Seoul?”

Yves’ eyes widen just a fraction before resuming their careful gaze. “Yes,” she nods.

“Are you aware that Youngho is raising a fledgling there?”

Their silence was telling.

“I’m unsure why he insists on staying in such populated areas when his clan won’t stop syring new ones.” Kun cocks his head. “But I believe he was trying to protect you.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Yves hisses. Her claws are unsheathed and she’s ready to attack, but Heejin has an arm out, holding her back.

“We don’t appreciate the belittling,” Heejin states, voice much calmer. “But I don’t want to escalate things between our clans, so we’ll take our leave. Tell your Youngho to watch his back.”

“He’s not _my_ Youngho.”

Heejin’s lip curls upwards. “And watch your own. We won’t forget this.”

Kun has to have to last word, so he says, “Give my regards to Viian, will you?”

He’s met with scowls. They won’t forget that, either.

Kun chooses to close the gates he normally leaves open during the night-time. His hands quiver they way they haven’t in a long time over the big juniper wood stakes he uses to bar the doors shut — weapons that are there to help defend his estate, that could have easily been used to kill him.

Chenle jumps down from the roof of the first wall. “You protected him?”

Kun looks towards the opening of the inner gate, where a flash of Dongyeong’s robe disappears behind the spring wall. “We have an audience.”

It’s a perfectly valid question, though. Isn’t that what any prymus would want? For their rival to be destroyed, and their clan to fall into disarray over leadership duties and inheritance? Ask Kun the same question if he wasn’t in Youngho’s vicinity and he would have given an absolute “yes”. And perhaps he should still give an absolute “yes”, considering the resources he has set aside for Youngho, the time he’s asked his clan to give him, the threat of violence from another clan that has resulted from having him here.

“It’s working well,” Dongyeong mutters, already back at Youngho’s bedside. The vampyre’s eyes are closed but Kun can already tell he’s stronger from the fullness of his cheeks. He’s wearing a light cotton robe, so it’s hard to say how the wound is doing, but Kun expects that is mostly healed as well. He would reach out to feel his temperature, but that would be inappropriate.

Kun nods instead. “As expected.”

—

Kun sees a flash of Shotaro’s claws before feeling the sting of them on his cheek. He has no time to focus on the pain, though — he sidesteps the fledgling’s wild fangs, swinging around to grab him by the hair. Shotaro is too fast, reaching for Kun’s wrists almost immediately. As much as Kun is strategic in his countering, even the strongest of vampyres would struggle against a fledgling under the full moon.

It’s shameful, that he has let this happen. Kun is normally careful in all things. He _knows_ the moonlight shines directly onto fledglings through the door on full moon nights, and Kun has had far too much practice opening it exactly so, taking every precaution possible. But now, not only has he let the light of the full moon hit a freshly-syred fledgling, but he has also let the deer he caught for Shotaro’s meal escape.

He was negligent. Thoughts elsewhere.

Kun throws himself and the fledgling along with him backwards onto the floor. He rolls over, intending to have Shotaro face down, but the young one turns around quicker than he can predict. Kun zooms to the other side of the room at the very last minute, blood pumping far too quickly in his ears. He’s about to run for the fledgling again, but there’s a flash, and suddenly Shotaro is tackled to the ground, Youngho holding him in place with a heavy knee.

“Quick,” Youngho gasps out. “The meal.”

Kun swivels around and finds the deer back in the room, sedate again. Youngho must have bit into it. He doesn’t waste time lingering, though; he grabs the mammal and holds it close to Shotaro’s face. Youngho lets the boy’s head go for a second, and Shotaro lunges for the creature’s neck. The Seo continues to kneel on the fledgling’s back, weathers the thrashing even though it’s clearly hurting him.

“Youngho…”

“No,” Youngho growls. “After he’s eaten. Find him a new set of shackles.”

“But you—”

“Go _now_ , while he’s occupied.”

This isn’t right. It isn’t right that Youngho is looking after his fledgling alone. It isn’t right that Youngho is rectifying his mistakes. Kun feels like an amateur, utterly useless, like he did when he first set out on his own without the protection of his syre.

He should never have brought Youngho home.

Kun is back with shackles in no time at all, but Shotaro has already eaten through the meatiest flanks of the deer. His face is covered in the creature’s blood, and there is cartilage and fur on the floor around him. Youngho has moved so that the fledgling’s knees are pressed to the floor and his wrists are pinned to his back. Somewhere along the way, Shotaro’s claws have pierced into Youngho’s wrist; the smell of the vampyre’s blood is faint in the air.

Once Kun has replaced the shackles, he pushes the other prymus off his fledgling’s back and snaps them shut around his wrists and ankles. He grabs Youngho, cowered on the floor next to them, by the collar and pulls him out the room. In a dash, the entrance to the west wing is shut and locked, leaving the two vampyres alone in the corridor, catching their breath, leaning against the door.

“You’ve got a gash across your cheek.”

Youngho’s murmur brings Kun back to the present. His eyes snap up to Youngho’s, then down to his wrists. “You’ve been hurt.”

“An easy fix.”

“Your wound is still healing.”

“It is much better after the ritual.”

“But you still need another day’s rest.”

“I can function the same as I did before I was hurt. It only pains me a little.”

Kun exhales to stop himself from sighing. “Where is Dongyeong?”

“Replenishing his supplies. We have a long trip home tomorrow.”

Kun takes in another deep breath before pushing off the door. He straightens his robe so it sits the way it’s meant to, so that every piece of frayed red fabric sits over the many stab wounds that caused his death thousands of years ago.

“I saw the deer running through the courtyard,” Youngho explains. “That’s how I knew.”

“You didn’t trust that I could handle it?” Kun clips back. Youngho simply raises an eyebrow.

Kun detests it. How Youngho still challenges him to be a better person.

He tries again. An honest question, this time. “Why did you help me?”

Youngho’s expression does not change. “Why have _you_ helped _me_?”

“I,” Kun starts. _Want to_. “Owe you.”

“For?”

“It’s the least I can do,” Kun’s mouth feels like wet paper, “After I betrayed your trust.”

“You said you fell out of love with me. I didn’t expect you to stay.”

Kun chews on his bottom lip with his blunt front teeth.

“Did you fall out of love with me?”

His teeth retreat back into his mouth. Kun licks over the dent they created on his lip. “You read me too easily.”

“I cannot read you. I don’t ask because I know the answer.”

“I thought I did. I thought I fell out of love with you. But I think what I needed was space.” Kun stares at the wood lattice columns over Youngho’s in lieu of regarding his syre’s face. He doesn’t remember much of his life outside from the circumstances of his death, but fragments tell him that he was the same when he was alive — too much of an individual to be a follower, to stubborn to fully belong to anyone. He was always going to leave Youngho, love or otherwise.

“I don’t know why I helped you,” Kun continues. Perhaps he wanted to prove that he can, he doesn’t say out loud.

A thumb on his jaw pulls Kun’s gaze back to the vampyre in front of him. It is coated with saliva; Kun realises why when it roams further up and brushes the gash across his cheek. Youngho’s open, bleeding wrist sits right at Kun’s mouth, and the scent crowds out everything else.

“You can drink, if you would like,” Youngho whispers. “No one is here. The gates are closed.”

Kun forces himself to think. “Chenle can let himself in. Dongyeong as well.”

“Then take me somewhere else.”

Kun closes his eyes, takes one more long whiff of Youngho’s blood, before pressing his lips firmly against the un-pierced part of his hand. “Okay.”

—

Youngho and Kun are sick the following night because Kun didn’t bother to properly protect his room from the sunlight. It’s enough to give Dongyeong cause for concern, to argue that perhaps they should wait a moon or two, to curse both Youngho and Kun for being so irresponsible, to remind his prymus that there’s a bloodthirsty young clan that will be after his head the minute he steps outside of Qian territory.

“It is inconsequential,” Youngho states, standing much taller than Kun has seen him for a while. His voice is full of power once again — none of the frailty it suffered during the past half cycle, none of the gentleness it carried for hours after sunrise. “We leave today.”

Vampyres never take up companions across clans. If they fall in love, they ignore it, and if they can’t, they switch sides. Politically, it’s cleaner; the blood between a clan whose member defects to another is not as bad as the blood between clans on either side of a bad divorce. After all, vampyres are solitary creatures. They travel alone, live alone, hunt alone. When one can live as long as eternity, love means very little.

For prymuses to love each other is unprecedented. And while Kun has been a pioneer before, it is not so easy to be one again.

Kun told Youngho as much in the early hours of the morning. He remembers how Youngho listened like he was truly listening, instead of that absent-minded, lovesick gaze he used to lay on so thickly. He didn’t rub circles into Kun’s flesh to distract him, didn’t interrupt him with irrelevant praise. Perhaps it is because they are equals now. Kun doesn’t know in how many senses of the word that might be.

Kun would have thought that anyone would balk under Youngho’s current tone, but Dongyeong does not budge. “If we get attacked, I’m leaving you to die.”

Youngho smirks. “If you leave me to die, then I’m giving the clan to Jaehyun. Is that what you want?”

Dongyeong scoffs. “Let’s go, already.”

Kun knows Dongyeong walks further ahead for their benefit. Chenle is still around, shoulders tense — Kun has a lot of explaining to do — so Youngho stops short of public displays of affection. He leans in close so that, if Kun chooses, he doesn’t have to pay attention to anything else.

“If you change your mind,” he murmurs lowly, “If you do want me, do let me know.”

Kun didn’t think it was the appropriate time to explain that Youngho was wrong. That Kun did want him, but it was complicated. He has too many things to consider, both for his clan and within himself.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Kun murmurs back.

“But you’re not sure that it won’t.” Youngho keeps his hands behind his back as he bends over to whisper in Kun’s ear, “Goodbye for now.”

It’s as close to intimate as they can be, with company around. Kun would have liked a parting kiss, but instead, he watches Youngho and Dongyeong’s backs retreat down the long mountain path that leads up to Kun’s estate.

When they’re well out of sight, he feels Chenle’s presence by his shoulder. “You’re going to end up hurting each other.”

“Companions split all the time.”

“Companions don’t hold a torch for each other long after they’re gone.” Chenle claps Kun on the back, before retreating further into the estate. “Forget about him!” he calls.

Kun isn’t sure forgetting is possible. But moving on? That, he can do.

—

**Author's Note:**

> I may write more from this universe but also I may not
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/singledadjohnny)   
>  [Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/singledadjohnny)


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